


Competency

by chasing_the_sterek



Series: Inktober 2017 [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Bored John, John is a Very Good Doctor, M/M, Sherlock is bored, emergency surgery, it's not seen but it's in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-02-10 15:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12914907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasing_the_sterek/pseuds/chasing_the_sterek
Summary: John Watson was, first and foremost, a doctor. The army came as a bolt-on a little later, and after being both a surgeon and a soldier the drab daily life of a general practitioner is, as Sherlock puts it,excruciatingly dull.///In which John lives up to hisvery good,despite being a tad rusty.





	Competency

**Author's Note:**

> Not-today's prompt was "protect/cold"
> 
> I used them mostly as undertones for this, I think? I had a base idea which connected to them more strongly but it refused to come out smh

John Watson was, first and foremost, a doctor. The army came as a bolt-on a little later, and after being both a surgeon and a soldier the drab daily life of a general practitioner is, as Sherlock puts it, _excruciatingly dull._

This is why, when one of Mycroft's cars pulls up beside him as he leaves Regent's Park, he leans down and raises an eyebrow through the tinted window. This is also why, when Mycroft calls "Your services are needed, Doctor Watson," through the suddenly-open door, he merely sighs theatrically, rolls his eyes, and gets in. 

Or maybe it's just because he's bored. 

John raises an eyebrow in Mycroft's direction. "Well? What d'you need me for, then?" 

A folder is passed over to him. "One of my agents," Mycroft says. "The situation is quite dire. She was shot in the abdomen some eighty seconds ago -" 

John's hand, if it were shaking in the first place, stills. Ice washes down his spine. He's sure his face must have paled. 

"I can't operate," he manages, eventually. "My tremor -" 

"Is not present," Mycroft cuts in smoothly. "You will be able to operate safely, Doctor Watson." 

"You don't know that, Mycroft." 

Mycroft observes him for a moment and then says, "I suppose that, if necessary, I could get someone to hold a gun to your back as you work." 

That shouldn't be reassuring. 

(But it is.) 

/// 

Sherlock is _bored._ His mould cultures are all in various stages of incubation, and therefore rendered unusable; the body parts contained in the fridge may as well be gone for all the interest he has in them. London's criminal classes are so starkly absent that he is left pondering the merits of John's theory regarding an en-masse danger holiday to Southern France. 

Lestrade is attempting to dangle a few cold cases, if the buzzing of his phone is any indication, but he really can't be arsed to move from his sprawl on the sofa, and so he leaves them. 

Probably boring, anyway. 

"Ugh," he says to the room at large, and then, soon after, "Tea?" 

No response, though his phone vibrates a few extra times. 

Sherlock twists to look at it, frowning lightly. John isn't here, as evidenced by the lack of an exasperated sigh and the appearance of a begrudging but equanimeous cup of tea. Why? He ought to be back by now, surely? 

He reaches for his phone. Best to check, surely - 

Flashing on the screen, a text he barely has time to read - _Brother, it would do you well to not ignore me now,_ or something of its ilk, Mycroft - before a call appears. Also Mycroft. 

Sherlock is curious enough to pick up. "What so desperately requires my attention for you to bother calling a second time, Mycroft?" 

Irritatingly unruffled, his brother says, _"Your doctor needs you."_

"Boringly enigmatic," Sherlock drawls, hiding the way his pulse has picked up. "Would you care to elaborate?" 

_"Specifically, he needs you to fetch something for hi- for -"_

Sherlock blinks at the ceiling. What is going on over there? "Mycroft?" 

_"Nope, me, sorry,"_ a familiar voice says. 

"Ah." Sherlock sinks back fully into the sofa. "You're not sat on him, are you, John?" 

_"No, regrettably. Though I think he'd be happier if I were, maybe he could escape then."_ There's a short, cut off noise, like somebody indignant. Sherlock finds John speaking before he can ask after his methods. _"Bring me my medical bag, and don't lie and say you don't know where it is."_ And then, further away: _"Katie, prep the table -"_

A rustle of fabric, and then several loud cracks and smacks as, presumably, Mycroft's phone hits the floor. For all that John lectures Sherlock on respecting others' possessions and treating things with care, he's startlingly careless when he's focused. 

Sherlock (very generously) waits for Mycroft's sigh as he inspects the damage to abate. 

_"No wonder you're so attached to that one,"_ Mycroft allows. _"He's competent, as far as goldfish go. And you always did have a soft spot for the smart ones."_

Sherlock ignores him. "Where are you stationed?" 

**Author's Note:**

> I want to come back to this! It's so short omg I hate it


End file.
